Antidote
by crimson-sage
Summary: When Hermione tries to find the antidote to the potion that weakened Dumbledore, she realizes that only one man has the knowledge she needs. Taking a chance, she turns to him for guidance, and discovers far more secrets than she ever suspected. HGSS
1. Chapter 1

AN: Well, hello everyone! This is my first real fanfiction, and as such, I would appreciate everyone's help! Although I did start a story about a year ago, I got through one chapter and gave up. However, this will not happen again! I have a rough idea of what happens in this story (at least, I've sketched out the main points) and am excited to get started. Please, feel free to give me advice, encouragement, or even the infamous "flames." Thanks for reading!

Chapter One

"Harry, tell me about that potion again. Harry!"

"Whaa – at?" said Harry, startled out of his gloomy thoughts of Dumbledore's death, just days before. Swinging his legs down from the window seat, he turned to face one of his two best friends, the last rays of the setting sun briefly lighting up the corner of his face as he moved. He looked tiredly at Hermione. "Again? We just went over the potion guarding the locket for more than…" glancing behind her at the clock, he finished, "45 minutes!"

Hermione, pacing back and forth on the carpet behind him, waved her arms frantically. "Oh, I know, I know. But… I feel like there must be some clue we have missed on how to defeat it… so just tell me anything, anything at all!"

From behind Hermione, a tousled red head raised itself wearily. Perched on the arm of Aunt Petunia's best sofa, Ron looked up from his solitary game of exploding snap. "Give it a rest, Hermione. Who cares, anyway? Harry and Dumbledore already sprang that Horcrux trap, we'll never have to worry about it, again." Ron looked murderously at his cards. "I say we should spend less time worrying about obscure poisons and more about hunting down those bastards Snape and Malfoy!"

Mid pace, Hermione pivoted neatly and glared at Ron, who scrunched back against the sofa arm. Her voice dropped down to a dangerous whisper. "Oh really? And what's going to happen the next time that we go after a Horcrux, and it's guarded in the same exact way? Who's going to survive drinking a potion that almost killed a wizard of Dumbledore's power?" Exhausted and stressed, she let her voice drip contempt. "You?"

Nervously glancing aside at Harry, Ron stuttered, "Well… uh, Harry will…" Seeing Harry look towards him, Ron quickly added, "I mean, it doesn't actually kill anyone. As long as you drink water right afterwards, you're fine. And I'll be right there to make sure he gets it!"

A pained look crossing his face, Harry turned back to the window. Hermione hissed angrily at Ron, "Sometimes, Ronald, you're a real fool! We don't know why Dumbledore survived, or even if he would have lived if Snape hadn't killed him. That's exactly why we need to find the antidote to this potion!" Looking beseeching at Harry, Hermione's voice became as close to pleading as it had ever become. "Harry, please?"

Harry internally sighed. Without turning away from the quickly darkening sky, Harry began to recite, once again, the moments that led up to Dumbledore's death.

---

Far away, in a small squalid shack, a man sat on a dust-covered floor with his back against the wall. His right leg, sprawled out in front of him, was dangerously close to knocking over a set of two vials, placed near his right knee. The closer, a thin and greenish goop, was bubbling noisily, and ever so often let off a short spurt of foul-smelling smoke. The farther, a dark brown concoction, seemed quite passive but when looked at through the corner of the eye seemed to be trying to crawl out of its beaker.

A large spider was busily spinning his web between the roof and a rafter, and on this the man's eyes were fixed. His right hand toyed with the two beakers, first touching one, and then the other, as though undecided as to which one to choose. His hand lingered a long time over the green one, tracing the rim of the glass slowly. Though his palm bore scorch marks from the potion's hot gas, he seemed oblivious of their presence, lost in some inner contemplation.

Muffled footsteps could be heard drawing near; though intended to be silent, the creaks of the old, rotten boards of the outside deck gave the intruders away.

An especially loud creak seemed to force the man's decision: though he hesitated several times, he finally closed his hand over the brown potion's vial. Raising it to his lips, he drained it down. Grimacing, though not at the potion's bitter taste, he carefully rose and placed the empty vial on the table. With a glance at the direction of the approaching footsteps, he quickly stooped, picked up the vial of remaining potion, and threw it, almost vindictively, at the spider web. Vial and potion hit the wall with a tinkle and hiss, and the surprised spider was knocked to the floor.

As the door was thrown open and blinding light and shouts filled the room, no one noticed when a spider crawled through a puddle of spilled potion. It was dead within seconds.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Throwing down the screwdriver, Harry wrenched the last corner of the Dursley's electric stove out of the fireplace. "Ok guys, time to go!" he called over his shoulder.

Muffled bangs could be heard from the stairs, as Ron, loaded down with the last of the bags, navigated his way down to the living room. He suddenly tripped, and a mass of blue fabric, brown leather, and red hair hit the floor with a resounding "Ompf."

"Ron!" cried Hermione, half jumping down the stairs behind him in her haste. "Are you alright? Ron!" A vision of Ron, unconscious and bleeding, flashed through her mind. Heart suddenly pounding, she grabbed an especially big suitcase they had borrowed from Hagrid and hauled it off the pile. Underneath, she found Ron hurriedly scrambling to his knees.

Blushing furiously, Ron glanced up at Hermione. "I'm fine." At her incredulous look, he flushed even further. Standing hastily he grabbed the bags around him and stomped over to Harry. "Really!" Ron said forcefully.

Hermione now found herself blushing, though she was unsure whether it was from Ron's anger or from her own overreaction when he fell. Matching stares with him, she wondered again what she was getting herself into with a relationship with Ron. They were always quarreling, he hated schoolwork, they had few similar interests and... her eyes softened as she noticed Ron was fidgeting under the force of her stare. He really could be so adorable!

Harry turned from the sight of his now both silent friends and threw a handful of Floo power in the fireplace. "Um.. guys" he said, coughing meaningfully, "it's time to go."

Turning quickly towards Harry, Hermione picked up Crookshank's cage, and made her way briskly over to the flickering green flames. "Right!" she said, and, throwing her bags in ahead of her, called out clearly "Number 12 Grimmauld Place!"

Stepping out of the ancient, soot-blackened fireplace, Hermione found herself thrown against the wall and her wand ripped from her grasp with a forceful "_Expelliarmus_." As her vision cleared, she found herself looking up into a pair of narrowed ice blue eyes. She gulped nervously at the cold touch of a wand against her throat. _Deatheaters_! she thought, panicking.

The eyes widened suddenly in surprise, and Hermione felt her arm grasped as she was pulled gently to her feet. "Hermione!" said a familiar voice in shock, and looking upwards, Hermione recognized Remus Lupin.

"Professor Lupin!" she cried, as a warm wave of relief swept over her. "What was that?"

"Sorry about that Hermione." Remus grimaced. "You picked the wrong day to make an unannounced visit. Today we're on high alert, and everyone's as jumpy as Alastor is normally."

"But Professor, what's so special about…" a thud interrupted her question, as Hagrid's big trunk came flying through the flames to land on the kitchen floor. Remus turned quickly towards the sound, avoiding her eye.

"That would be Harry or Ron, I gather?"

"Both actually, sir." Hermione watched another bag come through. "But what I want to know is why…" she was cut off again, as Remus tossed her her wand and said hastily, "Um, Hermione, why don't you go find Ginny?" He stepped towards the fireplace, and started stacking the emerging trunks. His he turned his back towards her. "She's so lonely, cooped up in this big house with no one her own age. I'll see you later, OK?"

Puzzled and a bit annoyed, Hermione stalked off towards the upstairs rooms, where she knew Ginny would most likely be found. As she walked down the hallway, she noticed signs of recent activity. Caked mud littered the floor, tracked in from outside by multiple pairs of feet. A brown coat lay haphazardly flung over a sitting room's chair, and she counted three wet umbrellas, two stashed in the hallway corner and one wedged between the grandfather clock and an old storage cabinet.

_Odd_, she thought. Normally only a few order members were at the headquarters at one time, to prevent an unexpected raid on Grimmauld place from wiping out the entire resistance. Curiosity prompted her to follow the mud trail, which led her around two left turns, down a flight stairs, around a right turn, and eventually ended at an old oak door. A flickering light came from the crack underneath, and muffled voices came from within. Silently pressing her ear to the wood, Hermione could just make out what they were saying.

"No," declared a voice, in McGonagall's wavering tones. "No! We are not monsters. I agree that what he did was abominable," here the professor's voice cracked slightly, "but I refuse. We must not become what we are fighting."

"Rubbish!" grated another voice. "This murderous pig deserves to die for what he did, just like all his deatheater buddies. Scum!"

"Now see here, Alastor" a tired voice piped up. Hermione jumped as she recognized Arthur Weasley. Wasn't he supposed to be doing order work in Ireland? Apparently this was not a normal order meeting. Hermione felt her curiosity rising. Maybe she would find out the reason behind the odd behavior of Professor Lupin! She pushed her ear even closer to the panel. "Minerva's right. We can't simply go around murdering people in cold blood. Even if the culprit did commit the ultimate offense."

"Wimps and weaklings, all of you" hissed the old auror. The tap of his wooden leg against the floor echoed throughout the suddenly silent room. "None of you have the necessary spine to do what must be done in this war." Someone made a faint noise of protest, but Moody cut them off. "How can you expect to beat these skewt-livered bastards if none of you can even kill the one sitting right here?"

Hermione sucked in her breathe in astonishment, and then silent prayed that no one had heard. Snape? _Here_?

The tapping of Moody's leg sped up. "Right before we caught him in the raid on his house, this slimy bastard took a potion which reduces the compulsion to talk under Veritaserum. As long as he doesn't speak, he can't be forced to tell the truth. What more evidence of his life-long allegiance to the dark lord do you need?" Triumph in his voice, Mood continued, "His own silence convicts him. If no one else will, I will render just punishment! _Avada…_"

Shouts rang out inside the room, and the sound of people rising and chairs overturning muffled the rest of Moody's curse from Hermione's ears. A green light flashed from under the door. Heart beating rapidly, Hermione suddenly realized that her right hand was clenched tightly around her wand, and her left was on the doorknob. Had Moody just tried to kill Snape?

Hermione tried to sort through her conflicting emotions. On one hand, Snape had killed Professor Dumbledore, and her heart contracted painfully at the thought. On the other… well, as evil as Snape was, something in Hermione balked at killing him. He had been an ever present authority figure in her life since age eleven, someone she had seen more often than her own parents. Until his act of murder, she had looked up to him, been guided by him, and trusted him. Though she had never liked the caustic Professor, and indeed had often hated him passionately, the thought of his death, as happy as it might have made Harry or Ron, only made her feel slightly sick inside. Snape was no faceless enemy, consisting of nothing more than a name or a dark tattoo; this was a man who figured in the memories of six years of Hermione's life. Trembling slightly, Hermione leaned against the door frame. For the first time, she glimpsed the ramifications, and utter horror, of war. Teacher against student. Cousin versus cousin. _Civil war._

A firm hand gently gripped her shoulder. Snapped out of her musings, Hermione spun around, startled, to look up into the unsmiling face of Remus Lupin. Eyes narrowed slightly in disapproval, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the kitchen. The flush of utter embarrassment heated up her cheeks, and she climbed slowly to her feet and dutifully followed Remus back down the hallway. However, despite the Professor's obvious impatience, Hermione found her footsteps dragging. She was loath to depart from that room, _from the scene of the crime,_ whispered a little voice in her head, until she knew whether Snape was alive.

Remus, however, was having none of it. With a firm grip on her arm he pulled her around the corner and the room vanished out of sight.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Tonight must be, Hermione thought crankily, the hottest night in weeks. Rolling over onto her stomach, she peeled off the hair plastered to her forehead and sighed when the bed sheets, hot and sticky from her sweat, stuck to her skin and twined even tighter about her legs. Burying her nose in the pillow, she stared at the outline of the tree outside her window, blurrily silhouetted by the moonlight against the dirty glass. Utterly motionless, the leaves flopped limply towards the ground, weighed down by the same oppressive, suffocating heat that for hours had been keeping her from sleeping. Hermione mentally revised her opinion. Scratch that, she decided, it's the hottest it's been in _years_. Couldn't she just get some sleep?

Hermione sighed crossly. The heat wasn't the only reason she was up. Ever since Remus interrupted her little eavesdropping session, she'd been on pins and needles. What happened to Snape? Remus had promptly sent her upstairs, and she hadn't seen anyone besides Ron and Harry since. Could Snape really be… dead? And by an Order member's own hand, at that! It seemed almost unbelievable. _Snape is dead_. She tried the phrase out, hesitantly, in her mind, and found the whole experience utterly surreal, as though she were in a dream, or on one of those bad weekly dramas Mum watched on the tele. Suddenly annoyed with herself, she gave a little snort. Wake up, Hermione, she reminded herself. Dumbledore is dead, as are Sirius, and Cedric. If you're going to brood about death, at least cry over those who are innocent – those who, unlike Snape, fought on our side and weren't _murderers_.

Hermione rolled over again, irritable, and closed her eyes. The sandman seemed to have skipped off work and gone on vacation, and probably, she groused miserably, to someplace _cold_. If she could only go to sleep and put an end to all these morbid musings! Reluctantly, she found her thoughts drifting steadily back towards a topic she'd rather avoid. Snape. Her professor. The murderer. Not for the first time, she found herself thinking back to that night, and her utter shock when Harry shouted out Snape's betrayal. It was not that she didn't believe that Snape was capable of such a monstrous act. Indeed, Snape had always shown himself to be a cruel, condescending, simply _nasty_ bastard. What had hit her like a punch to the stomach was the knowledge that she had respected and looked up to him. She had sat in his classroom day in and day out for six years… and the entire time he had been a _deatheater_, traitorously plotting the Headmaster's death behind everyone's backs. She felt sickened, not only by his crime, but by her own gullibility. She had been fooled so easily. They all had been.

But, she had to admit, the man, scum-of-the-earth though he may be, did know his potions. In fact, he was absolutely brilliant at them, a veritable genius even during his school days, as evidenced by his old potions textbook. There were so few potions masters in Britain, and he was one of the best. Hermione plucked at the edge of the sheet angrily. All that talent, put at the disposal of the wizarding world's most wanted criminal. What a waste for the world. What a weapon for the dark side. She grimaced. Snape probably brewed most, if not all, of Voldemort's dangerous potions….

Something jingled in the back of her mind. Hermione opened her eyes with a snap. Of course! Somebody had to have brewed the potion that guarded the locket, and she would bet her two eyeteeth that it was Snape. Giving up any pretence of sleeping, Hermione sat up and perched cross-legged on her pillow, chewing her nails in excitement. Though Dumbledore had charged Harry with finding and destroying the horcruxes, the trio had made little progress. In addition to not having any idea where the horcruxes were, they had no idea what they would do once they found them. If the horcruxes were also guarded by the same potion that had weakened and almost killed Dumbledore, they were, Hermione thought grimly, pretty well screwed. Though Hermione believed in Harry's ability to eventually defeat Voldemort, she was under no delusions – if the most powerful wizard of the age was as weak as a newborn kitten after drinking the potion, there was no way any other wizard, including Harry, would even survive.

Hermione nibbled furiously at her fingertips. Snape _had_ to have made the potion, she knew it. And, if he made the potion, then he must have made an antidote. After all, how else would Voldemort be able to get past the potion when he wanted access to the pieces of his soul? The key to getting the horcruxes, to defeating the dark lord, was sitting downstairs, probably tied up and locked in one of the empty rooms. Or… not, she abruptly realized, as the events of the evening caught up with her. Snape could be dead. _Oh no. Oh please no_. A cold fist curled around her stomach, and she felt nauseated as she realized that the order might have unwittingly killed the only man, besides Voldemort, who held the key to victory.

Grabbing her wand, she slid off the bed and hurried to the door of her room. Her earlier exhilaration had been replaced by growing dread, and by the time she had made it down the staircase she was nearing a state of panic. 'Oh God, please may it not be true' a little voice whispered, close to tears, in the back of her mind.

As she approached the common room, her fear over Snape's fate merged with the fear of the very likely possibility of being caught. Though technically, Grimmauld place was Harry's house, it was also the headquarters of the Order, and Hermione often felt like she was living in more of an army barracks than a real home. Hermione didn't fancy ending up on the wrong side of a startled order member's wand, or, equally bad, being caught sneaking out to see her ex-Professor now recent traitor and murderer. Chewing her lip nervously, Hermione poked her head out around the corner and peered into the common room. Empty. Carefully pulling up the hem of her nightgown, she snuck across the room, and slipped down the back corridor.

It was darker in these back hallways, which twisted and turned and went into the center of the house, away from any windows that might let in a bit of moonlight to show her the way. Reaching out, she placed her left hand against the wall and softly padded forward, lightly running her fingers over the woodwork for guidance while silently praying that she didn't wake any portraits. The cold, clenching feeling had returned to her stomach, and she realized she was breathing faster now, sharp, shallow, nervous breaths. Caught up in the sound of the blood rushing in her eyes, she almost walked straight into the familiar oak door. No light shone out from under it, and suddenly, the adrenalin which had pushed Hermione this far, that constant refrain in her head of _I need to know_, suddenly fled, leaving her weak and terror-stricken, leaning faintly against the door. All her doubts abruptly overwhelmed her. What if he is dead? She wondered. What if they've put him in a different room… will I be able to find him? Do I have to search other rooms? What if I can't open the wards on this room? A new worry sprung up… What if they've already taken him to the ministry? They'll send him straight to the dementors!

No. He had to be alive. He _had_ to. Gathering her courage, she flicked and swished and opened the door with a simple alohomora. Pushing it open, she stuck her wand in. _Lumos!_

---

Severus Snape had heard the soft footsteps coming towards him even before he heard the soft breaths which announced someone's presence at his door. After that mad, troll-toadying son of a hippogriff tried to kill him, the meeting had been hastily adjourned and Snape was left laying in the middle of the room, bound hand and foot, in the spot he had fallen when evading Moody's curse. He sneered. He was alive, no thanks to the oh so good and merciful Order. It was only due to his quick reflexes and the pre-curse tingling sense of danger that he was still alive. No one had tried to save him, despite all their speeches to the contrary, not even the supposedly kind-hearted Arthur Weasely or McGonagall, despite having worked with her for over a decade. When Moody tried to curse Severus, they had all shouted out in protest, but none had raised a wand to stop him. Severus' sneer faltered, and turned into a grimace. It galled him that their hatred of him stung so much. After all the years of working for the order, after returning to the deatheaters, after spying and risking his life for every piece of information the order had… he sighed. Come on, Severus. What were you expecting? Maybe a bit of trust? A little understanding? No. You know better than that. You haven't expected that for years.

Rolling to his knees, he managed to wedge himself into a sitting position in a corning in the far end of the room, giving himself an excellent view of the door and a little bit of lag time in which to see his attacker before he saw him. If was a pointless exercise – wandless and bound, he couldn't so much as fight a rat if it chose to gnaw on him, but it was habit, and provided him with a little false sense of security, the illusion that he had a little bit of control. He snorted back a despairing laugh. Right. As though he had ever been in control, the last, oh, 30 years of his life. Come to think of it, before he attended Hogwarts, he had been under the control of his parents. He had never really been in control of his life ever. _Damn you Albus,_ he growled mentally. Since the headmaster's death the phrase had become his mantra, which he repeated over and over with increasing fervor as the situation became darker. _Damn you_.

The attacker outside the door still hadn't made a move. Snape could hear the light sound of his breathing, and could see the faint outline of feet under the door, darker against a dark backdrop. Snape frowned. He had assumed the person was Moody, coming to finish by night what he had failed to do that evening. This was fine with him. Severus had almost come to accept the end; not that he particularly wanted to die, but at least this way, when Moody sent his soul winging towards the afterlife, when he saw Albus there he could smirk in his face and honestly tell the old bastard that it wasn't his fault he had failed his task. He had died trying, after all.

He mentally groaned. Oh God. If it's not the Mad-eyed Hatter, it must be Potter. Come to hurl insults, or hex me, or maybe even try his first _Avada_ to avenge his poor old oh-so-innocent Headmaster. Snape's lift curled. _Please_. Ah, the irony. So this was it. The culmination of his life – not to go down before an auror after all, albeit a psychopathic one, but to the wonder boy, the boy-who-comes-to-beat-me-up in a pitiful attempt to inflate that already about-to-burst bubble of self-importance, to gain some sense of manhood. Ignorant and self-centered as always; he's never going to be able to do what he has to. Albus, you're a bloody idealistic fool.

"Sir!"

_Granger_? What the hell is she doing here? Snape squinted, narrowing his eyes to filter out the light, checking to make sure it's who he thought it was. Yep. No mistaking that hair, or the voice he's heard every day, multiple times each day, for 6 long class-filled years. Snape squinted harder, confused. She looks… happy… to see me. In fact, he mused, I'd say close to ecstatic. Strange. I would have guessed she'd either come for her shot at revenge, in which case she'd be angry, or to ask me why I did it, in which case she should be, well, angry, or… _oh no_. Please, please no. Someone save me from interfering, goodie-two-shoe Gryffindors with their heads in the clouds. The only reason she could possibly be friendly would be if she thinks I'm still 'good inside,' still loyal to the order, and has come to let me know she still _believes_ in me. Snape looked straight at her, his lip curling further in disgust. Well, lets see how long it takes for me to quash that delusion.

She had, he noted, sobered up significantly. After that first brief flash of happiness and relief upon seeing him, she was now looking at him more guardedly, almost calculatingly, as though she was looking straight through him at something beyond. Annoyed, and slightly curious, Snape raised an eyebrow. "Yessss?" he hissed dangerously. His voice was raspy from the failed Veritserum interrogation, and the sound echoed harshly in the quiet room. Hermione twitched, startled. She seemed to truly notice him for the first time, noticing him watch her, and she swallowed reflexively, turning a bit more pale. Her hands were clamped in a death-hold grip around the sides of her nightgown, her nails gouging into the cloth. She's nervous, he mused. But then, I suppose she should be. It's not everyday one meets a bonified murderer. His sneer deepened.

"Sir." Hermione straightened up, and made an attempt to look him boldly in the eye. She managed for a second, and then dropped down to just below eye-level, above the bridge of his nose. Starting fixedly at it, she declared, "I would like to join the deatheaters."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Upon entering the room and finding that the professor was still alive, Hermione had been so overwhelmed with relief that for a few moments she couldn't think, could only breathe and exult in the possibilities the man in front of her presented. Until his cold, harsh voice snapped her out of her daydream, and the reality of her position came crashing down back in front of her. While Snape may be alive, she had absolutely no way of making him talk.

Veritserum was obviously out. The potion he had taken thwarted the truth serum's effects, and besides, the Order had already tried that approach. She was certainly not going to torture the man (and she seriously doubted he would speak, even if she tried). She had nothing to hold over him, nothing to blackmail or bribe him with… there was absolutely no way he was going to talk to someone on her side.

Hermione swallowed. An idea was coming to her. An idea that was so ridiculous, so far-fetched, so repulsive… that she almost pushed it out of her head the second it popped in. And yet… it was the only plan so far that had any possibility of working. She ran over the points backing it up in her head. Point one: Snape would not talk to someone on the Order's side. Point two: Snape might talk to someone on his side… and if he wouldn't, at least someone on his side would have the opportunity to be around the potions master, to spy on him and perhaps find notes connected to the potion guarding the horcrux. Point three: it was only a few hours until dawn, when the Order would probably deliver Snape to the ministry, to receive the dementor's kiss. Hermione gripped her skirts tighter. The long and short of the matter was… Snape had to get out of the headquarters, and fast. And if she was to learn anything, she had to go with him.

"Sir, I would like to join the deatheaters." Breathless, she waited for his response. And then shivered. He was _laughing_ at her, a cold, mocking laughter that raised the hairs on the back of her neck and made her wish she had been wearing a coat. Which was ridiculous, of course, because it had just been so hot out. But she shivered all the same.

After a few seconds, Snape's laugher turned into a fit of coughing, and Hermione waited nervously as he gasped and hacked for breathe. He finally finished, and spit upon the floor. All traces of humor seemed to have evaporated, and his dark eyes glinted angrily in the gloom.

"Sir," she bit out. "I'm serious."

"Miss Granger," he hissed. "Go away."

She tried again. "Sir, I'm not joking. I want to become a deatheater, to work for "she mentally clenched her teeth, and continued, "your lord."

Snape did not look amused. "Granger. I do not know what you are playing at, nor do I care. Get your revolting presence out of this room!"

Her resolve weakening under his disdain, Hermione nevertheless persisted. She had to do this. For Harry, and for the Order. "Sir, I don't think you understand…"

"Oh, I think I do," he hissed venomously, cutting her off. "A member of the famous dream-team, gryffindor's golden girl, the little miss perfect, has come to mock me in my last hours. Such a _Potter_ thing to do, actually, though I supposed I shouldn't be surprised…"

"Sir!" Hermione said loudly in protest, bristling. Annoyance was starting to replace fear. Here she was trying to help the man, and all she received in return were insults! She continued loudly, forcefully cutting across his monologue. "I understand your skepticism. However, considering that I am the _only _person around who is willing to release you from those ropes, and that within a few hours you will probably be brought to the ministry to _lose your soul_, you might do me the courtesy of listening to what I have to say."

Surprised, Snape leaned back into his corner and seemed to regard her seriously for the first time. She couldn't read his expression, but his penetrating dark stare bored into her mind, as though searching for answers. "Explain."

_Here we go_, Hermione thought, mentally crossing her fingers. Here's to hoping that the flimsy explanation she had cobbled together only a few moments before making her declaration came out of her mouth sounding much more logical and persuasive than it did in her mind. She jerked up her chin and stared at Snape boldly.

"I want to be on the winning side of the war," she paused without meaning to, mentally cringing as she waited for the normally caustic professor to jump down her throat. He looked back at her impassively, and raised an eyebrow, as though encouraging her to go on. _Righty-O_. "I have looked at the situation objectively, and it has become obvious that we, I mean Harry's side, is not going to win the war. Just look at the body count. Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore… we just lost the most powerful wizard our side has and yet the dark lord's side has lost no one. No one! In fact, it seems to be gaining in numbers, with new recruits flowing in." Hermione finished dramatically. "It's obvious to anyone who looks… we're _losing_, professor."

At the end of her little speech, Hermione let out her breath, and mentally passed the conversational ping-pong ball over into Snape's court. There. It's said. Now let's see if he believes it.

Snape's eyes had not left Hermione during the entirety of her speech, and as he let the silence build, she shifted uncomfortably, feeling too much like a specimen under a microscope. His lip, she noticed, had an odd half-twist to it, though what it signified, she wasn't sure. Finally he gave a little snort, and responded.

"Yes, you are. I'm surprised, however, that you realized this. I was sure that you and the rest of the raggedly little self-declared order would be too blinded by your own self-righteousness and belief in your coming _glorious destiny_" he said the words with a sneer, "to see defeat until it was banging on the front door of your funeral parlor."

_Yes!_ Hermione thought triumphantly, he believes me! She was a little nervous, however, at how easily she had come up with that explanation, and how convincing it sounded. Perhaps, she thought with a chill up her spine, it's because I didn't make it up. Everything I said about the order's chances, at this moment, are true. She swallowed her doubts. "Harry and the order may be blind," Hermione responded simply. "I, however, am not." Looking straight at Snape, she added daringly, "After all, Professor, I have always been smarter than everyone else."

---

Snape felt a cold, lead weight in the pit of his stomach, and fought to keep a neutral face as his sense of panic grew. _Oh God. She's serious_. _Shit_.

When Granger had first made her offer, he had been sure she was joking. He had been so startled, and somewhat relieved that she wasn't to be his executioner, that he had burst out laughing in utter disbelief moments after the words left her lips. He had then become angry. A student, a loud-mouthed, insignificant, yet arrogant brat, had come to make fun of him before he died. Gods, they were all so petty. He didn't have to put up with this, and told her so. Viciously.

But then, as she went on, the cold certainty began to grow that she was in fact not mocking him. Far from it. The little Gryffindor teacher's pet wanted to dive into a pit of snakes, and then become one of them. He was absolutely appalled. Carefully laid plans were crashing down on him right and left, and so far this was the biggest thud of all. The Order, the golden trio, betrayed from inside by one of the most trusted companions of the wizarding world's to-be savior. It was a disaster! He had to learn more. She couldn't possibly be serious, she had to be up to something! He forced his voice to sound mocking. It wasn't hard to do.

"But what, Miss Granger, prompted such a loss of faith in Harry? Not long ago you were drooling all over the wonder boy's feet, waiting for him to save you from the big bad Dark Lord. Why stop drooling now?"

Hermione answered without hesitation. "Harry does not have the strength to succeed. He will never do what has to be done." The coldness in Snape's stomach grew until he almost felt nauseous. Her words mirrored his previous thoughts exactly, and for a moment the hopelessness of the situation overwhelmed him, and he simply wanted to put his head down and cry. Even Harry's best friend had given up hope! But no, he had made a promise. _Damn you eternally_!

Snape decided to switch tactics. He sneered. Maybe he could convince her she wasn't wanted. "All this may be well and true, Miss Granger. But what makes you think the Dark Lord would accept you, one of Dumbledore's _mudblood's_, in the ranks of his followers?"

Hermione fixed him with a cold glare of her own. "Please, Professor," she said, looking irritated. "Don't insult my intelligence. Your lord doesn't care as much about blood purity as he lets on… considering that he himself is a half-blood, as are you, professor." Snape tried to hide his shock. The dark-lord… a mudblood! That would explain so much. Snape's musing were cut off as Hermione continued. "All your lord cares about is power, and I have the feeling he will accept as followers anyone who will help him gain it."

Snape snarled inside. Damn it. Of course she was right. The Dark Lord would be absolutely ecstatic to initiate one of the best friends of the boy-who-lived. She would be one of his most powerful weapons – a spy into the Order's midst, a trusted companion of his mortal enemy, a fountain of knowledge of all Potter's plans. With her help, the war would become a one-sided slaughter, as the light side would be taken by sabotage from within.

Cursing silently, he looked at his options. He could refuse to take Granger up on her offer, remain bound, and most likely become a walking corpse in just a few hours. Of course, if Granger really was serious about becoming a deatheater, she would turn anyway, and with Snape dead nobody on the light side would know. Plus, being dead was not all that appealing, and he had made a promise. So that option was out.

He could wait until she let him go, and then stun her. However, there was still the problem of her turning, and then him getting in serious, if not fatal trouble with the Dark Lord for not bringing her to him. He could always kill her…but then they would all be doomed. Well, if one believed in prophecy. And he was currently clinging to that belief with all the strength left in his tired soul. So those were not options either.

Snape eyed Granger carefully. There was still something fishy about all this. No matter how logical her argument, two weeks ago you couldn't have separated Granger from Potter's side with a crowbar. And now she wanted to join his mortal enemy. He could have sworn that she was chock full of too much Gryffindor nobility and righteousness for her to even read a dark book, much less cast a dark curse. Snape sighed. Had someone an hour ago suggested that Miss Granger would propose becoming a deatheater, he would have had the laugh of his lifetime before sending the man straight to St. Mungo's. And yet, here she was.

Narrowing his eyes, Snape made a decision. Not that he really had much of a choice, anyway. Whether Miss Granger was telling the truth or not, she was certainly dangerous, and someone needed to keep an eye on her. The safest way to do this would be to continue his charade as most loyal deatheater, and take her to the Dark Lord himself. This way, if she really did turn out to be a traitor, he could try to minimize the damage she could do to the Order. And if something else was going on… well, the closer he kept her, the better chance he had of finding out what she was up to. Bloody hell. He was really going to do this.

"Well, Miss Granger," he drawled. "As I'm sure you knew, when you proposed this offer, I'm certainly in no position to refuse. Unbind me."

For the first time since her declaration, Hermione looked hesitant. "How do I know you won't simply hex me and leave?"

"Because, Miss Granger, I serve the Dark Lord. How could I possibly pass up such a willing _prize_ as yourself?" Fishing for a reaction, he added, "He will be so happy to welcome another Pettigrew into the fold."

Hermione flinched slightly, and Snape smirked inwardly. That hit the spot, didn't it? Good. If the girl really wanted to turn traitor, he wasn't going to make it easy for her. Her act was a disgusting display of cowardliness, and looking at her made his stomach churn. He wasn't going to make this easy for her at all.

Without another word, Hermione stumbled forward and pointed her wand at the ropes binding Snape. Her skin was a little too pale, and her hand was gripped a little too tightly around her wand for her to be as comfortable with the situation as she tried to appear. Snape eyed her carefully. Having second thoughts, Miss Granger? Yes, please, do. For in a few minutes, it will be too late to back out.

"_Rompio,_" she spat out. The ropes slowly sliced open and uncoiled, falling loosely to the ground around him. Snape stood up slowly, and flexed his arms and legs that were stiff from lack of circulation. Then, spinning around quickly, he snatched Hermione's wand out of her hands before she had even registered that he had moved.

"What…" she managed to gasp out, before he silenced her with a flick of the wand. "_Silencio_."

"The first thing you need to learn, Granger, about being a junior deatheater is to obey your elders… and your _betters_." He drew out the last word intentionally, his voice dipping condescending. "Of course, while that probably means you'll have to obey _all_ deatheaters, for now, just focus on obeying me." He glared briefly at her, before motioning her out the door in front of him. "Lead the way."

---

Feeling sicker by the moment, Hermione padded out the door and down the hall. Snape's presence felt like a dark weight on her back, and she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Fighting down the urge to glance back over her shoulder, she nervously wiped her sweaty palms on her dress and fervently hoped he didn't change his mind and hex her. Foolish girl, she thought scornfully. Snape has absolutely no intention of harming you. After all, you're helping him. You're one of_ them_ now. Her palms began to sweat even more, and she wiped them off again. She was really doing this. Oh God.

They made it without incident to the common room, and Hermione was about to head to the floo when Snape suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop.

"No," he whispered sharply, dragging her over to the corner. He undid the silencio spell, and when she opened her mouth to question him, he waved her quiet. "Stay here. Don't move or make a sound. If you see anyone, act normal." Glancing around carefully, he softly crept across the common room, before vanishing up the staircase that led to their rooms.

Hermione stood where he left her, panicking. That wasn't supposed to happen! She was supposed to free Snape and then they would leave, returning to wherever the deatheaters stayed and where hopefully lay the key to the potion. She gave herself a vicious mental kick. She should have expected this! Of course Snape wouldn't pass up a chance to attack Order members, laying defenseless in their slumber. _Gods_. What if he was after Harry! Pure panic set in. What if he was going to kill him right now! How could she be so stupid! Never mind appearing as a loyal deatheater – if Harry was dead, all was lost. She had to stop Snape.

Creeping across the common room, Hermione hastily headed up the stairs. She passed a guest bedroom, and then Remus's room. Pausing for a moment, she listened for the sound of movement, for any sign that Snape was present. Hearing nothing, she moved on. Bathroom, she noted mentally. Bedroom. Closet. Bedroom. Still no Snape. Her heart pounding rapidly, Hermione hurried her steps, starting to run as more doors passed her by and there was no sign of the professor. He must be with Harry, she thought desperately, and ran the last few steps up to Harry's door. Pure silence. Gasping slightly for breathe, she put her ear to the door and listened. No sounds came from within. Was he already dead?

Carefully pushing the door open, she peered in. A boy-sized shape lay in bed, its back to the door, the moonlight falling through the window and painting a cross-hatch pattern on the bed sheet. Heart in her throat, she moved closer, until she was staring straight down at his face. He looked so still, and in the light of the moon his face was washed out and pale, corpse-like. Breathlessly, Hermione gently laid one hand on his throat, and waited. His skin was warm and soft, and there! A heartbeat! Relieved, she stared down at him a moment and then turned to go, starting in surprise as a warm hand caught hers.

"Hermione?" Harry blinked up at her blearily, his voice soft in the darkness. "What's wrong?" Hermione looked down at him. Without his glasses, she mused, he looked so young and defenseless. So innocent. The love she felt for him suddenly overwhelmed her, and she realized that she would do whatever was necessary to ensure that he survived. Even if that meant joining his enemies.

"Shhh, Harry," she responded tenderly. "Everything's fine. I just thought I heard you cry out, and came to make sure you're okay."

Harry's face, which had scrunched up in worry, slowly relaxed, and he patted her hand gently. "Tis okay," he mumbled sleepily, turning to face her. "It must have been another one of those nightmares. Sorry to wake you."

Hermione smiled sadly. This would be the last time she would see him for a long while, if ever. She was going to miss him so much. "Don't worry about it, Harry. I was up anyway."

"Huh. Nightmares too?" Harry looked at her sympathetically.

"Something like that." She gave him a small smile, and then pulled back her hand. "Go back to sleep." She winked. "Saviors of the wizarding world need all the beauty sleep they can get."

Harry grinned back in response, and watched her walk to the door and slip out into the hall. "G' night, Hermione" he softly called out, and rolled over.

The last sound he heard before he slowly slipped back into unconsciousness came whispered from behind the door. "Goodbye, Harry" a voice said softly, and the words lingered in his consciousness as he slowly slipped back into sleep. The rest of Harry's night was filled with uneasy dreams, in which he endlessly chased a grinning Voldemort around in circles while feeling that something he treasured more than anything else slipped slowly away from him forever.

---

Snape stalked angrily through the corridors, fuming. Damn that girl! Where had she gone? He had left her for no more than five minutes, and already she had slipped off. She had had her chance for second thoughts, and it was too late now! He had what he came for, and now it was time to leave. Flooing was out – the fireplace only worked for members of the Order, and he certainly wasn't on that list any more. That left apparating, and though he could cast small spells with the girl's wand, he certainly couldn't do any spell as powerful as that. He growled. Where was she!

There! She was padding down the staircase in front of him, heading back to the common room. Lengthening his stride, he grabbed her arm and put his hand over her mouth to keep her from crying out in surprise. She jerked in his grasp, and he waited a few seconds for her to realize who he was. When she had calmed down, he released her and spun her around to face him.

"Miss Granger. We have pushed our luck as it is… we need to go _now_." She nodded in understanding, and he continued. "For obvious reasons, I can't apparate us out. You'll have to do it." He glared viciously. "You _can_ apparate, can't you?"

"Yes, sir." Hermione nodded. "But I've never tried to apparate two people before. And I don't know where I'm going!"

Snape sighed. She didn't know how to do double apparation. Of course. That would have been too easy. "I'll do what I can to help stabilize us. As for the location, I'll have to put it in your head. Using legimency."

Hermione looked extraordinarily unsettled at the thought. Snape grinned wickedly. Have something to hide, girl? He couldn't wait until he had his hands on his wand again, and could plunge into the secrets of her mind. _Then I'll see what you're up to, little traitor_. Sadly, however, that was going to have to wait. Snape glared down at her. "Don't worry… your precious secrets are safe for now. Without my wand, I only just have the power to project the image of our destination into your willing mind." He sneered. "I certainly can't break into an unwilling mind, or in fact see anything in your mind at all."

He watched as Hermione relaxed marginally, though she still looked wary. "Now," he whispered harshly. "We are going to continue through the common room, and slip out through the front door. You will then look at me, and try to relax. I will project an image into your mind, and you will focus on it and how you want both me and you to be there. You will then apparate us. Understood?"

The last word he barked out in his best Snape-the-bastard-professor voice, and grinned sourly inside when she straightened reflexively. It seemed that years of teaching had not been a total waste. "Yes, sir," she responded immediately.

"Good. Let's go." Pushing her wand back into her hand, he motioned her forwards.

They made their way back down towards the common room, Hermione once again leading the way, Snape only footsteps behind. As they walked into the common room, they received an unpleasant surprise. The room was no longer empty. Molly Weasley, tormented by dreams of her loved ones injured or dying, had lately become a light sleeper, often rising early in the morning and laying awake late at night. Today was one of those days. She had woken up this morning, an hour or so before dawn, and decided to give up on sleep for the night. She was currently puttering around the stove, making herself a hot cup of tea. Looking up at the sound of someone entering the kitchen, she stared straight into the astonished eyes of Hermione.

Hermione stopped walking in surprise. Snape had no such hesitation. Shoving Hermione towards the door, he lunged for Molly's wand, which she had casually dropped on the table between them. Shocked out of her temporary stupor, Molly dropped the tea pot and jumped for it as well, though knowing it was already too late. Grabbing the wand, Snape pointed it straight at Molly. "_Stupefy_!" In slow motion, the head of the Weasely family fell backwards towards the floor, crashing into two chairs and knocking the tea set and china onto the floor. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling, frozen in horror.

_Damn_. There was no need for subtlety now. Already he could hear shouts and footsteps in the hallway; the crash would bring the whole house running. Sweeping around the table, he grabbed Hermione, who was staring petrified at the scene. "Granger," he growled, "Go!" He dragged her out the door, and she stumbled along behind him. A curse hit the wood above their heads, cracking the beam. He didn't turn around to see who had cast it. No time.

Turning to her in the courtyard, Snape grabbed her shoulders and stared fixedly into her eyes, trying to project the image of Spinners End into her mind. No such luck. The aspiring deatheater, he thought sourly, was in a state of shock from a little stupefy. "Granger! We don't have time for this!" he practically screamed into her face, spittle flying. She blinked confusedly back at him.

_Slap_. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed across the small courtyard, as he backhanded her across the face, hard. She recoiled in pain and surprise, and he pulled her close again. "You foolish girl! It is too late to turn back now! You must apparate us _right now_, or else you will find yourself left here to the tender mercies of the _losing side_!"

His words seemed to register somewhere in the back of her brain, and he felt the tell-tale jerk of apparition wisk them away as a burning pain hit him in the arm.


End file.
